


Absolution

by Anteros



Series: The Boat [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros





	Absolution

Archie could feel Horatio’s heart beating as he slid his hand down over his chest. Fast, too fast. He pressed his mouth to Horatio’s throat, the pulse below his jaw flickering under his tongue. His skin was hot and slick, Archie tasted salt and sweat and something that might have been fear. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected to be woken in the night by Horatio Hornblower calling out in terror. Hadn’t expected the look of desolation, of utter resignation, when he opened his eyes. He hadn’t expected the boat.

Archie’s own dreams had been haunted by that boat for long enough. How many nights had he woken in fear and confusion, the boat rocking gently beneath him, his head aching, spars digging into his back, only to find himself lying on the cold dirt floor of another French cachot, as the dream dissolved around him like mist over the Gironde estuary. Those dreams had passed away soon enough, replaced by more immediate fears. Eventually he had stopped dreaming altogether, there had been no more need for nightmares, his every waking hour supplied horrors by the score. Once or twice, in the pit, the boat dream had returned, comforting in its familiarity. But then the darkness had descended, and there was nothing. Nothing, until Horatio Hornblower had found him, and dragged him from the darkness to face older doubts and fears.

It had never occurred to Archie that Horatio might also have dreamed about the boat. He hadn’t expected that, and the revelation had caught him flat aback. Anger had flared, cold and bitter, and Archie had to fight the urge to rise to his feet and turn away. Part of him wanted to blame Hornblower, he was the one who had struck him down and left him to be cut adrift by Jack, left him to the tender mercies of the French. But beneath the surface anger, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Hornblower had been right to strike him down, what else could he have done? Archie could not condemn him for that. It was his duty as an officer. But why he had insisted on returning him to the Indefatigable, Archie could not comprehend. For duty, guilt or absolution? For love? Archie had no answers and yet here he was, Horatio Hornblower, lying beside him, warm and heavy with sleep, and drowning in his own remorse. Archie had no words that could absolve him of his blameless guilt; he was beyond the reach of reason. But Archie knew other ways to reach a man, and despite the bitterness that threatened to rise up and choke him, he could not stand by and watch Horatio punishing himself without reason. Archie knew enough of shame and guilt, without Hornblower adding to that score.

Turning away from his anger, Archie slid his hand further under Horatio’s shirt and brought his mouth down to his throat. Horatio’s brow furrowed, “Archie…” but the admonition went no further. His eyes closed and exhaled a long breath. His lips parted to meet Archie’s kiss and Archie felt his body tense and arch beneath his hand. When Archie pulled back, Horatio’s eyes remained closed but his breath was quickening. Archie cast one glance to the pale light filtering through the barred window, and another to the cell door. It was still early enough, the guards wouldn’t stir for some time yet.

“Shift.” Archie commanded quietly and, eyes still closed, Horatio obediently moved back against the wall leaving just enough space on the narrow bunk. His body was fiercely hot beneath his shirt, and Horatio groaned at the touch of cool skin as Archie slid into the bunk along side him. Moving his hand down over his belly, deftly pulling up shirts as he went, Archie found that Horatio was already hard, his hips rising up eagerly to meet Archie’s hand. His head was tilted back now, lips parted, but eyes still tightly closed. Archie could see his profile clearly in the thin, pre-dawn light and something in his chest tightened. Lifting his hand, he hesitated for a moment before running his palm lightly up the length of Horatio’s prick, fingers circling the head lightly. Horatio’s eyes flickered open and he breathed out a long sigh. Archie’s own prick had risen in response, and was pressing hard against Horatio’s thigh. Seizing him by the hip, Archie rolled Horatio on to his side, then sliding his hand down over the smooth curve of Horatio’s buttocks, he pulled his hips towards him. Archie could feel the cold rough stone of the cell wall grazing the back of his hand as Horatio bucked against him, but it mattered nothing. They were moving together now, shirts rucked up, sliding length against length, an intense aching heat spreading up between them. Horatio’s hand was on Archie’s back, moving lower, down over his arse, pulling him in as sharp hipbones drove hard against him. Archie felt a momentary stab of panic but Horatio was repeating his name now; over and again, pleading not for absolution but for release. Archie could not hold him back for long and Horatio came quickly and fiercely, thrusting hard against him with such force that he almost tipped Archie off the narrow bunk. Archie grabbed wildly at Horatio’s shoulder to stop himself falling and felt a sharp huff of breath against his cheek that might have been laughter or release. Then heat and pressure and want overtook him, obliterating everything but the low voice in his ear, repeating his name over and over in quiet supplication.

They lay together in a perfect moment of quiet oblivion, as the sun rose and the long shadows of the cell bars started to creep across the floor. Horatio was the first to stir, propping himself up on one elbow to stare in disbelief at the man lying still beside him. When Archie opened his eyes a moment later he found Horatio gazing down at him. The shadow of the dream was etched in the furrow of his brow, but his eyes were shining and buried deep, somewhere beneath the fear and the doubt and the remorse, Archie recognised something that burned there still; an unwavering spark of hope.


End file.
